


warm unfamiliar faces

by salvadore



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Fae & Fairies, Gift: Treat, M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-29 21:10:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20442587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salvadore/pseuds/salvadore
Summary: "How do you fare, my dear knight?" he asks, reaching a hand out to Jason.Swallowing his pride, Jason replies, "I've fared worse. And would have, had you not appeared."





	warm unfamiliar faces

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NitroJen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NitroJen/gifts).

> For your prompt: _Jason Todd is the head of the palace guard, set out to find the Prince of Gotham and bring him home. Along the way, he meets Dick Grayson, who's charming, smart, and more beautiful than anything Jason has ever seen. Jason starts falling in love and then he realizes that Dick is the missing fae prince._
> 
> I started this hoping to write a quick 500 words for you about Dick being cheeky and having wings, but it got away from me. I hope you like it nonetheless.

* * *

Jason’s heart skips a beat, and even the heavy blanket of freckles on his face can’t hide his blush.

Standing above him is the cause of Jason’s flush -- a figure, radiant and glorious in fae-made silver armor. They are still holding their sword aloft in defense of Jason, though the danger was now passed. There was blood on the grass, on the sword, and on his knight in shining armor. But thankfully none of it either of theirs.

“Are you injured?” The figure turns around, and the brightest blue eyes Jason has ever seen are upon him. They're set beneath long, dark lashes and against skin that nearly glows. Long, dark hair hangs down the stranger's back. It’s in a loose length about his waist and moves with him like a cloak.

Jason's mouth goes dry and he feels, for the first time in years, very small under his Knight's Armor. A whimper escaped his throat, but it is not a sound of fear.

Always one to be attracted to competence, Jason is embarrassed that he is half-hard in his small clothes.

With a swift motion the man cleans his sword of blood and sheathes it once more. And leaves the man with two free hands.

"How do you fare, my dear knight?" he asks, reaching a hand out to Jason.

Jason wants to protest. Who is he to wear the Gotham crest across his chest if the forest alone proved too treacherous? He might have been killed before he could complete his quest had the man not intervened. Who was he to be called "knight" if he was defeated so easily?

Swallowing his pride, he says, "I've fared worse. And would have, had you not appeared."

The most beautiful smile Jason has ever seen breaks across the man's lips. It startles Jason, he feels his cheeks heat further. He hasn't been this easily affected since he was a young squire.

"It was my pleasure," the man says. He delicately tucks loose hair behind his pointed ear.

A fae man, then, Jason thinks. It explained the armor and the quality of it. Though home to mortals, the Kingdom of which Gotham was the seat, was not unlike the fae realm. Often, the richest of fae would travel the long road to Gotham, the seat of King Bruce’s realm. Some in search of adventure, others wished only to feel the old magic of the forests, and to see the King’s ward.

He was a young fae man, or so the guard and knights had been told. Jason knew no one who had seen him.

The Prince was why Jason was out here. He was on a search and rescue mission.

He attempted to gather himself, and square his shoulder so he at least looked the knight he was meant to be. He scouted the road, hoping that no more obstacles lay in his way. The Prince had been gone nearly three days. Surely, he would be long out of the woods by now. Jason had to hope the Prince had not encountered the same dangers. Already, time was not on his side and he was not meant to be losing more of it. Nor fights to highway robbers.

Or be distracted by handsome strangers.

As if seeing Jason's change in demeanor, the man asked, "Can I have you name before you go, Ser Knight?"

"Ah," Jason said, remembering himself. "It ought to be me that asks the name of my hero. Forgive me. I am Jason. Of the Bowery. Royal Guard."

"I am sure you are very valiant, Jason, _of the Bowery_," he said with that smile. "It was merely my good fortune to chance upon you, and seize an opportunity to look gallant."

He still not had said his name, and Jason did not miss that.

He did, however, retrieve Jason's broadsword for him. It had been knocked from his hand in the surprise attack. Their fingers brushed as in the hand over, and a most pleasurable shiver ran down Jason's spine.

"Before you go," the man says. "Let me take a look at the cut upon your arm. I found a river off the road. I can wash and wrap this cut, and would like to. To lose your arm to infection would be a loss."

The cut on Jason's arm was shallow. It was a thin slice up from his wrist from the dishonorable attack that had knocked his sword free. He intended to protest that it was neither necessary, nor worth the loss of time. But the man had laced their fingers together, and was pulling him off the road before he could speak.

“I do not mean to delay you, dear knight. But I hope you will allow me this indulgence.”

His hand was soft in Jason's. Not calloused like Jason expected from a man so proficient in swords. His own were hardened by years of swordplay, and the domestic labor expected of squires. But his held Jason own with a gentleness. And he surprised Jason by running his thumb across Jason's. It was a gentle, caring gesture. Not one appropriate between strangers.

Jason feared the man had seen Jason's half-arousal before. While he wasn't ignorant of euphemism or unfamiliar with sex. Nor was he opposed to this turning into a tumble. Gods, but the man was beautiful, and his hand would like be as steady and strong around Jason's cock as it had been round a sword. Jason just didn't have the time.

There was indeed a river. And yet, the man had used more touch than necessary when helping Jason remove his armor. His fingers had trailed down arms, and his thumbs had swept across the sensitive skin at his inner elbow. It had made Jason’s hair stand up on his arm, and his heart race wildly.

The touch burned when those hands were no longer on him. And Jason swayed, his whole body seeking the man out even as he stepped back to remove his armor.

Jason hated it about himself, but he hoped that the man did intend a romp. It was unbecoming of a knight of his station to be swayed from his task by it. But the man’s lips had ghosted his jaw while he’d unclasped Jason’s cloak and the last of Jason’s sense of duty had fled.

When Jason was down to his tunic and small clothes, and the other man was shirtless before him they shared a smile.

Fingers curled around Jason’s wrists, and he asked, “Come with me into the water, Ser Knight?”

The man turned his back to Jason, and he nearly tripped. Without a tunic, Jason could see his bare back. And the wings emerging from his back. As if knowing Jason was staring at them, they twitched, flicking like an unsettled butterfly's wings.

They were thin, and Jason dared not reach out to touch. The tips, where they shaped into a curve were a blue as deep as the man’s eyes. Closest to the skin, the wings were so light they were translucent.

“I didn’t know fae had wings,” Jason breathed in wonder.

“Not all do,” the man says. “It is a gift to those with the old blood, or so I’ve been told.”

He pulls Jason along until they stand up to their waists in water. The air around them is alight with fireflies coming awake at the nearing of night.

Without his tunic, Jason could eye the man in return. He was a trim figure, but not hardened like the knights Jason grew up with. Though his cheekbones were high and sharp, the man had a body undeniably accustomed to richer food than average. A rich fae man, likely on his way to meet the Prince himself.

Their short clothes are soaked through, and the man draws Jason close. Water splashes up between them, and it makes Jason shudder. This close he can the man’s half hardness against his own.

Jason hopes to test the softness of the Prince’s lips next -- against his own and around his length. Might the man like to have Jason pressed atop him, he wonders? Jason would be worshipful in his love making.

All the suggestion Jason seeks is present in the man’s smile.

Jason knows he could will be reprimanded at least if anyone finds out how long he dallied. And yet, Jason is happy to be a distraction on the man’s route.

“Pray tell, who are you?” Jason asks. “Please. Won't you give me your name?”

Blue eyes seem to drink in Jason’s features, straying to his lips even as fingers brush Jason’s bottom lip. There is indecision to this beautiful man’s features. Jason worries he’s done something wrong. How could a name cost so much?

Those gentle fingers dance down his arm, and begin wetting Jason’s wound. Hesitantly the man smiles, and it is something self-deprecating.

“Richard. My name is Richard.”

Jason doesn’t have a second to wonder at coincidence, or play at denial. Richard says, “Prince Richard of Gotham. Ward of the King and heir to the Green Woods.”

His wings flutter at his back.

“Your grace,” Jason breathes.

The Prince’s touch recedes. Almost absently, he says, “I don’t suppose you remember me?”

“The King,” Jason starts to say. He doesn’t hear what the Prince just said because he’s flush again, almost burning with it. His hands are still on the man -- the Prince his mind reminds with the ring of alarm. The water splashes between them as Jason attempt to put the appropriate space between them. Water drips in lines down the Prince’s unmarred chest and a strangled noise escapes Jason’s throat.

“The King,” the Prince echoes. Hands catch Jason before he can slip to far away.

“The King sent you to retrieve me,” he says. He searches Jason’s own eyes. He finds no sympathy there, Jason knows. He feels humiliation as well as the still thrumming arousal. If he’s to be punished for this discretion Jason knows his old temper won’t remain in check. Already, Jason is biting his lip to keep from sharing his mind.

There is steel to the Prince’s words when he speaks. “But you’ve seen how capable I am of defending myself, have you not?”

“Your grace -”

He cuts Jason off with a sound of irritation. “Richard would be a much more pleasant name from your lips.”

There is a sadness in him that Jason doesn’t want to see. But the Prince presses wet hands to Jason’s cheeks and holds him steady. That comforting thumb runs a path along Jason’s cheekbone. Stray hair is tucked behind Jason’s ear.

"You have lovely freckles, Ser Knight."

Jason is choked. He wonders if there's been a spell cast upon the afternoon. None of his training had prepared him for this. His stomach has fallen through to his feet but he dares not move out of the Prince's hands. He doesn't want to.

"Thank you, your grace," Jason replies. The Princes hums in return.

The wood is full of the soft sounds of the wind in the trees. It feels like days should have passed since their encounter with the highwaymen. It has been an hour.

Jason closes his eyes. He knows he needs to devise a plan to get the Prince back. And he can’t do that while staring into his eyes. They hold too much charm and emotion, and seem to see through him. Jason lets the quiet fill him, and soaks up the feel of careful hand tracing his skin. When this is shortly over he knows he will yearn for this, and that scares him.

It a surprise when the Prince speaks.

“Am I the portrait of a damsel? I know that’s how they paint me to the guards and knights of Gotham,” he says softly. “But it is your opinion I seek. Do I look as though I need castle walls or close guard? Am I someone who needs saving?"

Jason doesn’t reply. The Prince presses forward regardless, “Truth told. What I am, is in need of a good Knight. A young one looking to make their name. Someone who pulled themselves out of the Bowery, perhaps. An honorable companion to join me on my journey.”

Then he asks the strangest thing. “Jason. Will you trust me?”


End file.
